


Dangerous - Hikaru

by CynicalDaydream



Series: Domino Effect [1]
Category: Brothers Conflict
Genre: F/M, Oral, Penetration, Porn Without Plot, Pseudo-Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalDaydream/pseuds/CynicalDaydream
Summary: When Hikaru invites you on a “girls’ day out”, you hardly expect it to end like THIS.
Relationships: Asahina Hikaru/reader
Series: Domino Effect [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730305
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	Dangerous - Hikaru

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story in a series that I’m working on, written in a viewpoint I’ve never tried before. It could be Ema, or you, or whoever.
> 
> There’s ... sort of a plot. If you squint. But mostly it’s just pure, smutty fun.

You haven’t spent much time with Hikaru in the past, him being so busy with his job and all. He tends to travel as much as your parents, researching for his novels. So when he invites you for a "girls’ day out", it takes you a bit by surprise. And since he’s technically family, you agree to a date. It would be nice, you think, to get to know your jet-setting older stepbrother a little better. So, you gladly agree on a day trip to a neighboring city that’s well-known for its expensive shopping districts and world-famous cafes.

Shopping with Hikaru, it turns out, is a lot like shopping with a girlfriend. Albeit an older, much more _sophisticated_ girlfriend. The fact that he’s gone full drag for the event helps cement that idea, although his choice of elegant, suede wrap-skirt, silk blouse, and knee-high leather boots makes you feel positively dowdy in comparison. Maybe you should have worn a summer dress and cute sandals rather than a pair of jeans and slip-on loafers, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he exclaims over the cute, frilly top you also chose.

You spend the day being pulled along in Hikaru’s wake as he leads you into one shop and another. You both try on clothes that you, at least, could never afford (although _he_ makes several purchases). You stop in an expensive jewelry boutique where you delight in trying on diamond rings and gem-encrusted necklaces and bracelets. He takes you into at least three different cafes to "sample the wares", all of which he insists on paying for (and since a single cup of coffee costs as much as a full meal at your favorite fast-food joint, you let him). You start to get the feeling that he is well-known around these parts, because everywhere you go he is greeted with the recognition of a celebrity and treated as a VIP, and you, by default, are treated similarly.

You spend hours just strolling along the sidewalks of the pretty little town. The weather is beautiful and the people are friendly, and the both of you find it amusing when several appear to mistake you for a pair of sisters or a mother and daughter on an outing. Oh, if only they knew! You can’t help giggling, but you can’t really blame them. Hikaru really does make a beautiful and convincing woman in his elegant skirt and blouse with the matching boots and stockings, all in shades of soft cream and pale, silvery gray that offsets his magnificent wealth of red hair.

Toward the end of the day, just as the sun is setting, he takes you into one last shop. The boutique is clearly high-end, even above the other shops you’d frequented. It practically screams sophistication and wealth from the moment you step over the threshold. Mirrors line the wall and even the ceiling, giving the illusion of far more space than there actually is. Spotlights dazzle off polished marble floors and the clothes, all displayed on polished wooden mannequins, seem to be one-of-a-kind creations that you’d never be able to afford in a million years. Besides, while beautiful, they all hold a rather mature appearance that hardly suits your young, 18-year-old self.

Hikaru speaks with the proprietor as you casually browse the shop, admiring this skirt and that blouse … and rather taken with the drawers of silky, lacy bras and panties off to the side. It takes a bit of time; the two seem to know each other well. In fact—You squint, wondering if it’s your imagination—it almost seems like your brother is _flirting_ with the woman; you wonder if she’s on to his little secret. You’ve discovered that Hikaru can be as much of a flirt as any of his brothers, but he usually saves it for when he’s teasing, not at all serious. And you’re _still_ trying to decide whether he’s actually gay or not, or if he simply like crossdressing because, admit it, he looks _good_ in a dress.

Speaking of dresses, one of them catches your eye and brings an abrupt end to your inner musings. A delicate creation of pale cream silk stands all by its lonesome at the back of the store, behind the counter. Displayed on a simplistic mannequin and lit by spotlights, you wonder if it’s even for sale or just display and can’t help sighing as you reach out to touch the frothy skirt.

“You have a good eye,” Hikaru’s voice murmurs softly in your ear, making you squeal in shock. You hadn’t even noticed him sneaking up on you despite being surrounded by mirrors. He blinks down at you, surprised. The three saleswomen minding the store giggle behind their hands and you can feel a hot blush crawling up your neck. He tilts his head and smiles, then beckons the closest girl over. “I’d like her to try on this dress, please.”

You immediately break into stuttering denial but are simply ignored as the fluttering salesgirl carefully pulls the dress from its display and leads you both into the dressing area. Full of fawning compliments and obviously hoping for a large commission from the wealthy socialite and her daughter or sister or _whoever_ she thinks you are. You hide another smile behind your hand and play along, because when _else_ will you have the opportunity to wear such an amazing dress?

The waiting room is as posh as the rest of the store, with mirrored walls and ceiling, plush carpeting and leather-padded benches to sit on while waiting your turn to change. The six dressing stalls are closed off by white wooden doors and when you step in you realize there’s no mirror to see. Hikaru steps up and pushes a pair of heeled sandals into your hands. "Let me see when you’re done," he insists, and you nod and shut the door because, really, what else can you do?

You hang your clothes and bag on one of the hooks and slip into the dress. It falls softly around your body, light as air, and you sigh again in admiration. The dress has one of those high-low skirts that brushes the back of your knees but falls almost indecently short in front. Even your school uniform skirt is longer than this, and you tug self-consciously as you awkwardly fasten the waist in back. It’s hard to tell what you’re doing with no mirror to see, but you think you manage.

The bodice is a halter that fastens around your neck by a crystal-studded collar and the waistline is designed like a faux belt that’s also trimmed with crystals. It seems like the collar would be uncomfortable, but both it and the "belt" are made of soft, silvery-gray leather that isn’t too tight around your throat. You do find the bodice to be a _little_ uncomfortable, though. It covers your chest well enough, but ends at your sides, exposing your entire back to view. If you were to bend over, surely your breasts would be exposed, as well.

“Can I see yet?” Hikaru demands from outside.

You’re not so sure you _want_ him to look now. The dress is far more sophisticated and sexy than it had looked on the display. But you’re kind of curious yourself to know what you look like in such a thing, so what would a little peek hurt? You’ll just show him and take a look and then put your own clothes back on. You remember the shoes—a pair of strappy, silver sandals trimmed with more crystals, clearly designed to match the dress—and slip them on before opening the door.

You totter out of the stall, unbalanced in the sandals. You’re unused to such narrow heels and they already kind of hurt your feet, but the look on Hikaru’s face almost makes the ache worth it as you hold your arms out and spin a slow circle for him. “It’s a little too grownup for me,” you admit as you pause to examine yourself in a mirror. It really _is_ a stunning dress. But it makes you feel like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s nice clothes. You would never wear something like this in public; you’d die of embarrassment first!

“Nonsense,” Hikaru scoffs as he stands to walk up behind you. In the heels, your head reaches his chin. If _he_ wasn’t wearing heels you might even make it to eye-level. He hums and tugs and then piles your hair off your shoulders. “This dress suits you perfectly, as I expected.”

“Do you know the designer?” you ask. Because it almost seems like he does and you wonder if this is where he appropriates the majority of his wardrobe.

“Yes, quite well.” A rather secretive smile. “This is her latest creation. Actually, I admit I played a large part in its design. And so now I needed someone to try it and test for potential flaws.” He boldly winks at you in the mirror.

Something seems a little … _fishy_ with that explanation, but before you can put your finger on why, or question him further, he continues, “You have a beautiful neck, you know. A stunning back-line…” A long finger trails down your neck and down the length of your spine and sends an explosion of gooseflesh erupting across your body. To your embarrassment, your nipples tighten almost painfully at the unexpected stimulation.

Oblivious, Hikaru frowns as he pauses and tugs at the lacy strap across your back. “You really should take this off," he admonishes. "It’s not meant to be worn with a bra.”

You panic. “I...I know, but—”

You can’t even finish before he deftly slips his hand into the bodice and around to the front. You squeak in shock when warm fingers brush your breast before you realize that he’s merely undoing the front clasp of your bra. It snaps apart and, with a simple tug, it’s down your arms and dropped onto the bench behind you, leaving you blinking in astonishment.

But you’re painfully aware of two things, now. One is that your nipples still feel pebbled and hard and the pleasant, cool brush of the silk against them isn’t doing anything to help. The second is that you can _see_ them through the pale fabric that tents softly over them, dusky pink and clearly aroused.

Hikaru obviously notices, as well, which is exactly what you’d feared, and an eyebrow arches as a small, amused smile tugs at his lips. “Oh-ho! Could it be that you’re cold, Imouto-chan? Or was it my touch that aroused them?” he teases, while you simply glare at his reflection and cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to block his view. He immediately grips your hands and forces you to uncross your arms. “Don’t hide,” he says softly. “There’s no shame in such a natural reaction.” His smile softens as his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “If anything, I find it flattering that my touch can elicit such a positive response.”

Eyes widening, you struggle for a snappy comeback but his words have rather knocked any response clean out of you. Then he sighs and frowns, gaze dropping to your chest to blatantly stare. “But this _is_ a problem,” he tsks. “Most Japanese women could probably get away with going braless in this dress, but you’re quite a bit more endowed. Still, there are other methods to hide them. Pasties and such.” He rests his chin on your head and his hands slip down your bare back again, sending another eruption of gooseflesh over your skin and your aroused nipples pulse and tingle in response, but before you can be embarrassed, he slips his hands around your waist _under_ the bodice, caresses slowly up your stomach and covers them with the tips of his fingers.

You squeak in shock and pleasure as he rubs gently and, already unsteady in the heels, you sag weakly against him and hang onto his arms for dear life, the strength bleeding from your legs. You muster enough of a voice to ask what he’s _doing_ and he meets your eyes with an impish gaze. “Merely testing the give of the fabric,” he replies in his most innocent voice. “The bodice seems a little loose, but I think any tighter and things might become obscene.” He cups your breasts and lifts them, examining how the fabric strains across the hardened peaks. He hums, thoughtful. “Another layer of silk, maybe. Or a thicker liner might help… But it does seem an awful shame to hide such a pretty sight.”

All the while he’s speaking, his thumbs and forefingers roll your nipples between them and the resulting pleasure sends tremors across your body, pooling in your belly to stoke the low-burning flame of arousal his words and touch have ignited. You whimper and, to your embarrassment, you find yourself pressing into his touch, silently seeking more. He rewards you by increasing pressure, pinching _hard_ , and the erotic sting draws a husky moan from your lips.

His deep, pleased chuckle abruptly brings you back to your senses. “W-we should stop this,” you whisper, voice barely more than a breath. “It’s soon closing time, isn’t it? S-someone will come back … and see…”

He seems to ponder, but hums in agreement as his hands reluctantly slide from your breasts. “Oh, dear,” he murmurs after a few moments. “I believe there might be another sort of problem now…”

Your eyes widen. “ _Wh-What_ sort?”

His smile spreads, slow and sensual, as he steps from behind you and faces you fully in the mirror. And you can’t help it; your eyes are immediately drawn to the large and extremely obvious bulge that now graces his beautiful, silvery-gray skirt. It’s not a particularly tight skirt (after all, he _is_ a man so something too tight would definitely give him away) but right now there is _no_ hiding the prominent erection that tents the soft suede and your entire body flushes with heat at the sight.

He examines himself in the mirror with a slightly put-upon frown, then heaves a sigh and makes himself comfortable on the bench. “Well, there’s no help for it. I guess we’ll just have to wait it out.”

“ _W-wait?_ ” you cry. “For how long? Wh-why did this happen?”

“ _Why?_ ” A slender eyebrow arches; the amusement is back in force. “Well, let’s see.” He pretends to think, tapping his chin with a lacquered nail that exactly matches the shade of his dark mauve lipstick. He shrugs. “I suppose it’s my own fault, really. I’m a man who is alone with a beautiful woman, fondling her beautiful breasts… imagining what _else_ I could be doing to her breasts that would bring such a rapturous expression to her face…” Another flippant shrug. “What else could I _expect_ to happen?”

Your heartbeat quickens at his words, spoken in a tone pitched lower than any you had ever heard him use before. You … kind of want to know what else he’d been imagining to cause his arousal … but you’re frankly too nervous to ask. So, instead you stutter out, “But aren’t you—I mean, I’d assumed—Aren’t you _gay_?”

A slow widening of his eyes before he tips his head back and laughs. “I suppose it’s not surprising you came to that conclusion. But…” He gestures to his crotch. “I assure you, were that the case, we wouldn’t be facing this particular conundrum at the moment.”

Mortified, you look down and softly apologize, hoping you haven’t offended him.

He waves you off with an amused smile. “Anyway. As for how long it will take to … _you_ know… Well, I suppose that varies. It would go a lot faster if I helped it along, of course.” At your questioning glance, he raises an eyebrow and mimes pumping his fist over his crotch, then erupts into more laughter when you squeak in mortification and spin away to hide your face. Not that there’s any hiding to be done in a room full of mirrors… 

“It’s utterly adorable how innocent you are,” he teases. “Honestly, after all the time spent among my brothers, I would have thought you’d be far more corrupted by now.”

“Sh-shut up! I don’t think this is funny. I could just leave you here, you know.” But you won’t and you both know it. You’re in another city, after all. And you suppose you could take the train back but it really is getting late and it’s dangerous to be out alone. Besides, you didn’t even bring your pass since Hikaru had driven, and taking a taxi would be far too expensive. Not only that, trying to explain why you returned without him would be … awkward, at best. Even if you made some excuse, what was to keep _him_ from blabbing the truth in front of everyone? Stirring up shit among his brothers is one of his favorite pastimes, after all.

“Do you mind? This is really quite uncomfortable.”

You blink at him, realizing he’s been speaking for quite awhile as you were thinking. Embarrassed to be caught not listening, you nod automatically. Then immediately regret it when he reaches for the fasteners of his skirt and, with the same deftness he’d displayed while relieving you of your bra, quickly undoes them and sits back as the folds part and fall away. He leans back on his elbows with a sigh and you gape and wonder if he’d straddled the corner of the bench because spreading his legs took pressure off or whether it was to give you the very best view of his penis.

His penis that is currently swathed in black silk, _straining_ at the seams of a pair of panties that had _not_ been designed to contain a man’s full-blown erection. It leaves little to the imagination. You can see his balls clearly through the stretched-out leg holes and the underside of his cock is completely exposed to view. As he unbuttons his blouse and sets it aside with the skirt, you let yourself stare freely. He catches you looking, of course, and with a smirk, spreads his legs a little wider. “It’s okay. I don’t mind if you look.” He grimaces and touches himself. “But I really do need to take these off. They chafe horribly.” 

He stands up and you notice for the first time the lacy garter belt he wears, attached to the pair of thigh-high stockings you’d been covertly admiring for most of the day. He plucks at one of the garter straps with a frown, then grips the side of his thong and, with a hard yank, rips it right in the middle. Another quick tear of the other side and then a sigh of relief as he pulls the ruined fabric away and his erection springs up, proud and unfettered.

And the sight of him standing there, fully aroused, in nothing but tousled hair, a garter belt, thigh-highs and stiletto-heeled boots is so unbelievably _provocative_ that you feel a flush of heat unfurling through your skin and blood and pooling deep in your belly. You can actually feel your own panties growing damp with arousal and rub your thighs together uncomfortably.

He notices this, too, and his smokey lids lower over eyes darkened with lust as he slowly stalks toward you. You try to back up, but there’s a mirror in your way. He stops just inches away. Close enough so the tip of his penis just brushes the fabric covering your stomach. He laughs huskily. “I’ve always thought silk and suede feel incredible on your skin. Especially when you’re this turned on,” he murmurs into your ear. “It heightens _every_ sensation. Don’t you agree?”

Your nipples had finally softened by then, but a single nail dragging over your breast instantly brings the right one back to full attention and you can’t stop the breathy little whimper before it escapes. “Wh-what other things?” you whisper, before you can think the better of it. He hums a little, questioning, but then his eyes widen and a slow, sensual smile spreads across his painted lips as your meaning hits home.

“Well, something like…” His low murmur trails off as he takes your hand, gently urges you to follow him back to the bench. He sits, again straddling the corner and the new position brings his face close to your left breast. So close that, for a brief, heady moment, you think he’s going to _kiss_ it, but he pauses mere centimeters away and instead blows a soft, warm breath over it that you feel right through the silk. Your nipple instantly tightens into a throbbing point of sensation and your gasp of air makes your breasts strain against the bodice. He chuckles softly as one hand slides up your side, around your back under your hair and you arch into his touch. He fiddles with the clasp of the collar and in another second, both collar and bodice fall away, baring your body to his hooded eyes.

“I would hate to ruin such expensive silk,” he purrs, right before he leans forward and presses his hungry mouth to your sensitive flesh. You squeak in shock and wobble, his hands rise to grip your waist and steady you as he kisses your breasts, over and over again.

You moan in pleasure when he opens his mouth and presses his tongue to the tip of a nipple and it’s like every nerve ending you possess zeroes in on that exact spot. Then he curls his tongue around the throbbing bud, clamps his teeth over it and sucks _hard_ and you groan in ecstasy as both arms come up to hold his head to your breast.

He also groans as his arms circle your waist and pull you close, sucking at your nipples as they throb and sting with too much sensation and all you can do is hold on for dear life and think that nothing in the world has ever felt _so good_ and you’d be content to let him hold you and suckle your breasts forever.

And then you catch yourself in the mirror. The deep flush that’s spread across your skin, the rapturous expression on your face and the way you cling to him, the way he clings to _you_ and the way his hips make little jerking motions, like he’s trying hard not to thrust but can’t quite contain himself. You take in the long line of his naked back, his equally naked ass slipping over the bench’s leather padding with each short jerk of his hips… 

And you also see the open doorway of the changing room, where _anyone_ can walk by and peek in and _see_ you engaging in carnal acts right out in the open. “W-we need to stop,” you manage to gasp around another embarrassingly wanton moan. A squeal quickly follows when he responds with a hard bite to your nipple, instantly followed with a soothing caress of his tongue. “Why?” he murmurs against your breast and the vibration of his deepened voice against your overly-sensitized nipple makes your inner walls clamp with needy arousal. “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” 

His hand drops from your waist to your ass, worms under the skirt and thrusts between your legs, making you jerk and gasp. His lips leave your breast long enough to smile up at you as he rubs you over your soaked underwear. “Seems like I’m not the only one with ruined panties today,” he purrs. He removes his hand and licks glistening moisture from his fingers, never breaking eye contact. “Shouldn’t you just take those off? They can’t be comfortable. I’ll gladly help you.” And his hands slip up under your skirt again and hook into the waistline of your panties, pulling gently.

“It’s dangerous! S-somebody will _see_ ,” you gasp. “Anyone c-could look in here…”

“But isn’t that the _thrill_ of it?” he counters. Eyes lidded, he leans closer, uses his grip on your panties to pull you to him. “The idea of someone catching us… The danger of being exposed… Don’t you find that _exciting_?” His breath caresses your lips as he speaks, bedroom eyes boring into yours, willing you to give in, to let go and let him do whatever he wants with you… 

“Suckling your breasts isn’t all I’ve imagined,” he tells you, his voice a deep, visceral growl that sends more goosebumps erupting over your skin. His hand slides between your legs again, presses against your panties, then pushes under and slips _inside_ you and your head falls back as he caresses your inner walls, coating his fingers with your arousal. “I’ve imagined suckling you here, too. Does your clit taste as good as your nipples? Will it feel as good rolling against my tongue?” He removes his hand, deliberately sucks his fingers and you feel as if you might pass out from the sheer, unadulterated _want_ of him.

He rises to his feet, suddenly towering over you, and this time leaves no room between you and you can _feel_ his erection jerking against your belly. Your panties pull tight across your groin, the sound of ripping fabric, and the pressure releases as he pulls a sodden, ruined scrap from under your skirt. “There,” he says teasingly, “don’t you feel better now?” He slips one hand around your waist and fiddles at your back, and a moment later the faux belt loosens and the dress slips from your body to pool at your feet. “After all, it would be a shame to ruin it,” he adds, bodily lifting you from the pile of silk.

You consider being angry but settle on _highly aroused_ as he seats you on the edge of the bench, which brings his penis inches from your face and were you a braver sort of girl, you might actually lean in to kiss it. Instead, you start to remove the painful, strappy sandals, only for him to stop you with a growled, “Leave them.”

You look up, questioning. He drops to his knees, raises one of your legs high to send you tumbling onto your back. “You look damned sexy in these shoes,” he purrs. “I want to see what you look like in them with your legs over my shoulders while I…” He trails off on a low moan as his lips caress down your leg in hot, openmouthed kisses. His eyes meet yours before he drapes your leg over his shoulder, presses a kiss high up on your inner thigh that makes your hips jerk in anticipation. Then he deliberately looks into the mirror and you can’t help following his gaze, heart jumping at the sight you make, spread wide open with one leg dangling over his back and the other dangling off the side of the bench, the delicate sandals glittering with fractured light. His face looks positively _lascivious_ as he lowers it to your exposed entrance and you have to look away as he opens his mouth and licks your slick opening with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.

But the ceiling is also mirrored, you belatedly recall, and you get the full, unfettered view of yourself lying spread open across the bench while your brother pleasures you. You’re flushed and sweaty and panting with arousal and need, your face a mask of desperation and desire. And your entire chest is _covered_ with kiss marks. Now you understand what he’d meant by ruining the silk. Lip-shaped marks the color of his lipstick dot your breasts and belly. It’s a wonder that any is left on his _mouth_ , by the looks of it. Both of your nipples are liberally coated with dark mauve, the color nearly blending with the deep flush that had been brought on by his intense sucking. They’re _still_ swollen and hard, sensitive to the slightest touch and nearly throbbing with the lingering stimulation of his tongue and lips. You experimentally touch one, caress it just to see, and the pleasurable zing makes you whimper.

Or maybe it’s the sight of Haruka’s head bobbing between your legs that does it for you. From the ceiling you can’t see what he’s doing down there but you can certainly _feel_ the way his fingers dig into your legs, holding them open, the way his tongue thrusts into your folds, the way his mouth closes over you and he licks and sucks as strange pressure builds low in your belly, growing tighter and tighter until it suddenly roars over you like a wave and you arch your back and scream and writhe against his mouth. His only reaction is to hold your hips tighter as he grinds your center against his face and keeps sucking and licking until you finally collapse into a boneless, dazed sprawl on the bench.

After a long moment he finally withdraws and sits back, wiping his chin and mouth as he smirks down at you with a purely masculine expression of satisfaction, and for the first time you wonder how anyone could _ever_ mistake him for a woman. “There now. That should do it. How did that feel?” he murmurs.

How did it _feel_? You’re too exhausted to answer such a stupid question, but the way your legs part further, all by themselves, and the way your hips twitch up as if begging for more, seems to be all the answer he’s looking for. A slow, satisfied grin touches his lips and he rises from his knees on the floor, throws one leg over the bench to straddle it much like you’re doing, sits with parted legs and sexy thigh-highs and his erection on full display. Is it your imagination or has it grown even _bigger_ in the last few minutes? Really, the size is a little daunting now… 

“Well, now. If you think _that_ felt good, I think you’ll really enjoy this.” He grips your hips to drag you closer, raises his eyes to the ceiling and you follow his gaze, meeting it in the mirrored glass. “What would happen now,” he purrs, “if someone were to walk in and _see_?” He inches you closer, draping your thighs over his.

“Do you think they’d scream?” Another inch. “Or maybe call the police?” Yet another inch and the head of his penis pushes against your opening, parts the lips with soft, pulsing warmth that makes you groan in helpless longing.

“Or maybe…” He pushes further in. Slowly. Gently. Pressure ever-so-slowly building as his head stretches you, fills you, slides over your quivering walls with fluttery, erotic sensation. You can _see_ him entering you. See his length slowly disappearing into your body, pushing in further and further. Your excitement builds even higher. “Maybe they’ll just stand there and watch,” he finishes on a whisper, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your lips that quickly morphs into something deeper and more wild. His tongue thrusts into your mouth and you can taste yourself on him and it makes you clench hard around his cock. He groans into your mouth and with a hard thrust of his hips, he’s buried fully inside your body, cock twitching against your flesh. And then he moves, withdrawing slowly and pushing in again and you wail at the sensation as you watch yourself in the mirror. It’s the most incredibly sensual act you've ever seen, watching yourself being taken by a man. By your own brother, no less. It’s carnal and forbidden and even the sting of his intrusion is unable to quench the unadulterated _ecstasy_ of it. “Maybe they’ll touch themselves as they watch,” he husks as he strokes his hand over your breast. “Anyone can pass that doorway and see us. See me fucking you slow and deep. See how much you’re enjoying it…”

You’d been wrong before. As good as it felt to have him sucking on your breasts, that is nothing compared to the pure eroticism of his whispered words coupled with the incredible titillation of his penis sliding in and out of your body. The pressure is building again. You clench around him, thrust your hips, trying to match his rhythm. He responds with a low growl, grips your legs to hold you down and _slams_ into you, his hips pistoning erratically as he seeks to bring you both to release.

He lifts your leg over his shoulder again, brings himself up to his knees and pumps harder into you as you pant and moan and mewl. Then he slides to his ass and pulls you in so you’re suddenly seated astride his hips and your weight brings you fully down on him, his length rubbing hard against your throbbing clit. The rough stimulation triggers the orgasm you've been so desperately seeking and you cum with a wail, body clenching around him. As if he’d been waiting, he grips your hips to slam you down and thrusts hard up into you. Warmth floods your walls and his cock spasms and jerks as he ejaculates inside your body, pumping his hips beneath you so hard that your breasts bounce.

Long, blinding moments pass before you finally finish and collapse in an exhausted heap across his body. He lays panting beneath you, hands caressing up and down your back in long, soothing strokes. You can feel him, still buried inside but no longer the hot, throbbing pressure it had been. It feels so much softer now that he's released. You clench around him as he finally sits up and slowly pulls out of you. He releases a breathy little chuckle that’s half a moan as he finds his withdrawal suddenly difficult. “Don’t be greedy now,” he admonishes lightly. “As much as I’d love to stay and bask in the afterglow with you, it really is getting late now. The shop needs to be closed up properly.”

With a start, you recall your location and your position and quickly scramble to your feet, forgetting about those damnable heels until they unbalance you and send you tumbling straight back into his arms. He catches you with a chuckle, pulls you flush to his hips as he presses soft kisses to your shoulder. “I hate these shoes,” you grumble, embarrassed.

“A shame. I really love them. You looked sexy as hell with your leg over my shoulder as I sucked your clit.” He licks his lips in remembrance and you realize he’d enjoyed watching your love play even more than you had. “I hope you wear them next time.”

“N-next time?” you squeak, dropping the bra you’d just picked up.

“Yes, well…” His smile is wicked. “Preferably in a real bed. These benches aren’t really designed for sex. My bed would be ideal—more than enough room for two—although I wouldn’t mind squeezing into yours. If you think the brothers won’t come nosing around, wondering what all the squealing and moaning is about.”

His lids droop over eyes that slowly darken with renewed lust. “Then again, we both _like_ the danger of possibly getting caught, don’t we,” he purrs. “The thrill of being so openly erotic where anyone might see… Perhaps we _should_ do it in your bed. And leave the door unlocked. I’ll make you scream my name with passion…”

“S-stop teasing,” you murmur, turning away to hide your burning cheeks, only of course there’s no hiding anything from him in a room of mirrors. Not your blush, not the way your thighs rub together to ease the new flush of arousal… He chuckles and steps up behind you, wraps one long arm around your shoulders as his other snakes across your torso, hand slipping down until he buries his fingers between your folds and slowly works you. You moan and your hips gyrate against his palm despite yourself. “We can just stay here,” he growls into your ear, watching your reaction in the mirror. He slips his free hand down your body until he hooks it under your leg to lift it, parting you further to let his fingers sink in deeper and work you harder. He pinches your clitoris and you jerk against his hand with a squeal. “We can stay here and I’ll make you come until you can’t stay conscious anymore.”

That is ... a _really_ tempting offer and you're not sure that he’s joking about it. But you can see through the open doorway that the shop is too dark and far too much time has passed and you’ve been amazingly _lucky_ so far, but that luck won’t hold out forever. Something is definitely … _off_ about all this. “Wh-where _is_ everyone?” you pant around your whimpers. “S-someone should’ve checked on us by now…”

He chuckles in your ear, kisses your neck. “They’ve probably gone home by now. It’s well past closing time,” he replies, thoughtful.

“ _What_?” You gape, pleasure forgotten. “Y-you mean the shop is _closed_? Th-they just _left_ us here?”

“Well, yes.” He looks entirely too pleased with himself. Completely shameless. “It’s my shop, after all. Well,” he amends as an afterthought, “it’s our mother’s, really. She’s the designer.”

“ _M-Miwa-san_?” you gasp. “Your mom owns this place?” Now you’re _really_ embarrassed.

“Yes, but Yuki-chan manages it. I suppose I’m the co-manager, technically, although I’m not here that often. My own work and all. But I have a set of keys. I’m free to come and go as I please. Perks of being the owner’s son. We’ll just need to be sure to lock up when we leave.”

You lean heavily against him, the full implications of this settling in. “You knew all along they’d be gone,” you accuse, stung.

“Hn. But _you_ didn’t," he points out, smug and unapologetic. “And the danger of being caught thrilled you, didn’t it? It heightened the eroticism, the fear that anyone could walk in and see what I was doing to you…”

He’s right, damn him, but you don’t have to _admit_ it. He chuckles at your stubborn silence and his hands caress your body, sliding sensually over your shivering skin. “If you’re disappointed,” he murmurs, “we can do it again. Perhaps out in the open this time…” His hooded eyes glow with banked desire. “Maybe under a shadowed tree, pushed up against the trunk. Or maybe out on a balcony under a full moon, where anyone could look out a window and see me on top of you, hear you scream my name…”

Your pulse jumps and breathing turns erratic as his words fill your mind with images, his fingers pluck at your nipples gone sore from overstimulation. If he doesn’t stop soon, he’ll have to _carry_ you out of there. He seems to sense this because he chuckles again and gathers you into his arms, actually carries you like a bride from the dressing area and out into the shop. He doesn’t care at all that the store windows are wide open and any passerby can look in and see him, buck-ass nude, carrying your equally naked body across the floor, lit by the nighttime flood lights that illuminate certain displays.

He takes you through another door that turns out to be a ladies toilet, sits you on the edge of the sink and wets a soft towel with warm water, then begins to carefully and methodically clean you. He gently wipes his kisses from your breasts, seemingly aware of how tender your nipples are, still flushed red and sore from his ministrations. Then he moves down your stomach and between your thighs, wiping his and your fluids from your body.

Of course, being Hikaru, he can’t resist teasing you some more, focusing on cleaning _and_ pleasuring you with fingers wrapped in the soft-rough terry cloth, until the sensual titillation against your clit overwhelms you and you find yourself succumbing to yet another orgasm in his arms. He holds you and rubs your back and whispers sweet, tender words into your ear until you finally collapse, merely chuckles when you deliver a halfhearted swat to his bare arm. “It was worth it,” he sighs, “to see the rapture on your face and hear you wail my name. Watching you cum for me reminds me how to truly be a man.”

You hardly know what to say to _that_ so merely follow on wobbly legs back to the dressing room to retrieve your clothes. You’re not looking forward to putting on your jeans sans-panties, but he takes care of that as he silently hands you one of the silky, expensive pairs you’d been earlier admiring. He doesn’t even bother getting a pair for himself, merely wraps the skirt around his waist, uncaring of the unfettered bulge that now ruins the sleek line of it. You imagine you can almost _see_ the full outline of his dick under the suede ... until he catches you staring and you jerk your gaze away with a squeak. He doesn’t call you on it but his smug little grin lets you know he’s cataloguing this for later. 

Fully dressed, you follow him out to the street, wait until he properly locks the doors and sets the alarm, then walk silently beside him until you reach his car parked a block away. You don’t speak much on the long drive back to the Sunrise complex, unsure what in the world you can possibly _say_ at this point.

“Thanks, I had fun.”  
“Looking forward to next time!”  
“Come up to my room and fuck me until I pass out like you promised and leave the door open thanks very much…”

You turn your face to the window and close your eyes, pretending to sleep before he can somehow read your mind or guess your embarrassing thoughts. The next time you open them, you’re pulling up to the complex and Hikaru puts the car in park before turning to face you. He eyes you carefully before he reaches to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Thank you for coming with me today,” he murmurs. “I hope you enjoyed yourself…?” You flush darkly but shyly nod and he seems to breathe a soft sigh of relief. “At least I didn’t terrify you too badly. That’s good. I would have felt awful.” He reaches behind him and hands you a dress box. You know what it is even before you see the boutique's logo and your eyes widen in shock, but he holds a finger to your lips before you can speak. “It’s yours,” he says firmly. “I designed it with you in mind, as a gift for _you._ No other woman may wear this. But I hope _you’ll_ wear it for me again one day.” A brief pause. A sensual smile. “ _Without_ a bra.”

You can only hug the box to your chest as you utter a soft thank you and climb from the car. As he goes to park it, you hurry into the complex and up to your bedroom. You desperately need a bath to wash the lingering traces of Hikaru from your body, his cologne and … _other_ scents that still cling to your skin and hair.

Distracted, you don’t even notice when somebody tries to exit the elevator at the same time you’re attempting to step _into_ it. You bounce off their body and stumble back with apologies already falling from your lips when you realize it’s _Fuuto_ you’d just run into. “Wh-what’re _you_ doing here?” you blurt out, surprised.

His irritation seems to grow. “I happen to live here, remember?” he sniffs, scowling.

Flushing, you start to issue more apologies, but he isn’t paying attention. His sharp gaze has honed in on your chest and you squeak when he abruptly reaches out to trace a finger along the scooped neckline of your shirt before suddenly hooking in to tug it down. “What is that?” he demands, leaning closer, and you flush when you realize he’s staring at the large, purplish bruise that graces the top of your breast. One of the _many_ that dot your chest, growing more clustered the closer they get to your nipples, left behind by Hikaru’s enthusiastic love play. He may have wiped away the lipstick, but you have a feeling the love bites will linger for _days_.

Fuuto’s eyes suddenly widen and a dark flush spreads up his neck. “A-are those _teeth_ marks?” He starts to tug your shirt down a little lower...

You panic, shove the dress box you almost forgot you’re holding between you to push him away and he hits the wall with a startled grunt. “Pervert!” you bark as you scramble into the elevator, not even bothering to apologize for pushing him as you punch buttons to the correct floor. As the doors slide shut and the lift moves, you can only hope Fuuto isn’t curious enough to follow you.

You bathe hastily and the warm water goes a long way to soothing your sore muscles. And by the time you finish soaking, you’re even relaxed enough to let today’s memories unfold in your mind, deliberately recalling the heat and exquisite pressure of Hikaru’s body moving inside yours, hands and lips pleasuring your body in ways you’d never even _dreamed_ of before...

By the time you emerge, you’re flushed and aroused all over again. You change into pajamas, then hide the box containing your brother’s gift in the back of your closet where there is little chance of anyone accidentally stumbling across it, because it feels like a secret shared just between you and Hikaru. You wonder when you’ll have a chance to put it on. And how long, you wonder sleepily, will you actually get to wear it before he has you _out_ of it again? The thought makes you shiver as you pad to the wall switch to snap out the lights. You wonder what he’s doing right now. If he’s remembering, too, or whether he’ll be able to sleep for the lingering want of you?

You’re still so worked up that you have the feeling you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, either.

So you’ve left the door unlocked. Just in case.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments are a fanfic author’s delight!  
> Unless you hated it...


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